


Passing Time

by RoseAngel



Series: The Red Thread [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, First Meetings, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6791500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAngel/pseuds/RoseAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. - Ancient Chinese belief </p>
<p>A series of alternate ways that John and Sherlock could have met. PROMPT FIC.</p>
<p>Prompt #1: John is a regular at Sherlock's part-time place of work (bar, restaurant, whatever) and while they don't really talk, Sherlock makes deductions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing Time

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT! This fic is a prompt fic. Some of the chapters will be based off posts and ideas that I've seen floating around Tumblr, but I am absolutely open to receiving prompts from you guys. This series will be a series of potential first meetings, but beyond that, I'll take anything: canon-compliant or non-compliant, realistic setting or fantasy, romantic or platonic, you name it. Just send me a message, either here or on Tumblr (roseangelx), or put it in the comments. I'd love to see what ideas you all come up with.
> 
> I'll endeavour to post weekly, if possible (which, of course, will depend both on my own schedule and the number of prompts I receive - I may post more or less frequently depending on the number of prompts). For now, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Also, a million thanks to my brilliant beta, Becca (ArchiveofOurOwn's LlamaWithAPen), without whom my work would have considerably more typos.
> 
> Today's prompt is from Tumblr user za-smierc-przyjaciela.

No one likes their first job, not really. No one starts out with dreams of progressing up the ladder and making a career out of it; they start working because they want money, to go out or to buy food or to pay rent. They start out in fast food, or retail, or catering, counting down the hours until their shift is up, gaining nothing from it but their pay and, if they are lucky enough, maybe a tip or two. This pay is what keeps them coming back for their next shift, keeping them from quitting on the spot every time a customer tries to convince them that the customers themselves know better than the employees.

Still, this does not mean that Sherlock Holmes doesn't spend every moment that he's on shift, waiting on tables, bored out of his mind.

It's not like he even needs this job, really. His family has always been rather well off, and his parents could easily afford to spare enough money to help him through university. Mycroft, his older brother, got a scholarship, so, arguably, they had even more money to spend on Sherlock as a result of not having to pay for Mycroft. However, his parents are convinced that Sherlock needs to learn things like self-control, and responsibility, and all those dreadfully dull things one learns when they work, and so they have limited the amount of money that they lend to Sherlock to force him to find an alternative source of income in order to do the things he wants to do.

He would have had enough money saved up from the allowance he was offered in his childhood, given the fact that he was never the most sociable of people and so he had never needed to waste that money on movie tickets or an excessive number of cab fares. Unfortunately, he took up some rather expensive hobbies a couple of years ago, and while his money is not being spent on that, not anymore, it did put a hole in his pocket.

Which is why Sherlock is stuck here counting down the hours until closing time and trying his very best not to yell at the imbecile that keeps telling him that the jug of iced water is too cold.

Sherlock is gaining absolutely nothing from this, outside of the small amount of money that he can spend as he pleases. There are no skills that he is earning as a waiter that he will need in his future life. His future career is not going to require him to be polite to people – especially not idiots like the one at table twelve – or to know how to give the correct amount of change, or how to carry three plates at once, or how to clean a table. None of that will be necessary when he is a consulting detective – the career that Sherlock has had his heart set on from the moment he realised that consulting detectives did not exist. He invented the job when he was nine.

Unfortunately, the only thing that is necessary for a consulting detective is people who are willing to consult with a detective, and, even more unfortunately, no one wants to listen to a nineteen-year-old.

Really, the police should be listening to him, despite his age. They should be coming to him for help when they are out of their depth (which is _always_ , from what Sherlock has gathered from the sheer number of unfinished police investigations he reads about in papers). He is certain that he is cleverer than all of them put together, and he has absolutely no doubt that he would be an immense help in their investigations. And yet, they won't listen to him. They will blame his age, or the fact that he does not have the necessary qualifications, and so they will not listen to a word he says. Really, it is probably because the police do not want to be outshone by someone who is, at least in their eyes, scarcely more than a child.

(And, okay, maybe he failed to make a good impression when he stumbled onto a crime scene and started spouting deductions while he was not completely clear of mind, but that does not mean that his observations about the movement of the body after death were inaccurate.)

He carries the jug of non-iced water over to the table, putting on the politest expression he can manage. It feels like his cheek muscles are straining just to hold the smile. It hardly matters, though, because the man does not even look at him; he sits there like he believes himself entitled to whatever he asks for and does not seem to believe that waiters deserve so much as a thank you for doing their job. He holds his head high and does not so much as spare Sherlock a glance, and the only way that Sherlock knows that his placement of the water jug did not go unnoticed is because Sherlock hears the man mutter something about 'lousy service' when Sherlock turns his back. Sherlock resists the urge to inform him that his wife, seated across from him, is having an affair and his on the brink of leaving him for her other lover.

This is the only skill that Sherlock is gaining from working here at Angelo's. The restaurant caters to a variety of customers, meaning that it offers a tasting platter of people that Sherlock can make deductions about. It's the easiest way to pass the time whenever he's standing still, waiting for the next party of customers to push through the door or the next dish to be placed upon the kitchen counter.

He stands by the window to the kitchen as he waits for his next task, scanning the crowd of customers in search of someone to test his powers of deduction on.

There's a family of four – a mother, father, and two young girls squabbling over who should get the biscuit that came with their father's coffee (well-off financially, daughters used to getting whatever they want, signs of stress around the woman's eyes resulting from either work life or family life, indications of strain in her marriage).

There are two young women two tables down from them, talking and giggling and brushing their knees together underneath the table (a recent relationship, still new and exciting and secret).

There's an elderly man who lifts his coffee cup every time he goes to take a sip as though he's saying 'Cheers' to the empty seat across from him (used to come here with his partner, still learning to live without her, wishing either a happy birthday or anniversary to her memory).

His gaze eventually settles on a young couple who have just been guided to a corner table, only a few years older than Sherlock. Sherlock starts with the young man, because, unlike the woman, he looks familiar. Sherlock is certain that he's seen the man at the restaurant before, though it hasn't been during a shift where he could take his time observing and deducing. He takes advantage of this opportunity today, taking in the way he is dressed and the cut of his hair. It's clearly not a professional encounter, but the man is dressed neatly. Now that Sherlock thinks of it, he is reasonably certain that this is how the man normally dresses when Sherlock has seen him before. It gives some indications about his character; he's likely smart, well-organised, clearly interested in making a good impression whenever he meets anyone.

The man scarcely glances at the menu as he sits down, making a decision easily. It is a possibility that something on the menu jumped out at him immediately, but Sherlock knows that most people will read the rest of the menu even after something initially catches their attention, just in case there is something better further down. No, it seems more likely that this man is a man of routine, used to making the same decision every time.

The woman sitting across from him is his polar opposite in just about every way. Her hair is short, the style almost boyish, but it is not trimmed neatly like her partner. At a glance, it's messy enough to be considered 'bed-hair', but the way it shines in the light suggests that she's used some sort of product or hairspray, putting effort into making it look like she hasn't put effort in.

It's also bright pink.

Her makeup is similarly striking. Her lipstick is a little redder than her hair, and it leaves marks on the rim of her glass every time she takes a sip. Her eyeliner is thick and smooth on her eyelid, with a sharp wing at the outer corners of each eye, and there are shades of purple on her eyelids, making her eyes even darker.

She is in just about every way the complete opposite of the man sitting across from her, and yet here they both are, chatting amicably in a restaurant. Their body language does not suggest awkwardness or discomfort, either, as you might expect from a first date. They look as though they've known each other for years.

Well, they do say that opposites attract.

A woman at a nearby table stands to use the ladies' room, adjusting her form-fitting dress as she gets to her feet. Both the man and his pink-haired partner look over as she walks past, and both of their gazes linger on her a little longer than strictly necessary, and a lot longer than one would be looking at someone else while on a date. Which makes Sherlock's first mistake abundantly clear: they're not on a date. In fact, the way they both looked at the woman – who Sherlock assumes is conventionally attractive – suggest some level of attraction, which implies that they're both interested in the same sex.

Stupid mistake. He must be getting rusty. A deduction of the nature of a social encounter should be obvious. Clearly, he needs more practice.

They still seem like an unlikely pair, even if their relationship is strictly platonic. Perhaps the rule of "opposites attract" applies just as much to friends as it does to romantic partners.

They have both finished looking at the menu, now, but they are not being served. Sherlock cannot get away with standing around for too long before someone catches him and gives him a job to do, and he doesn't want to get stuck on cleaning duty if he can help it, so he moves over to their table. They both look up at him when he gets there, and he gets the first proper look at both of their faces. Immediately, he wants to hit himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They're siblings.

It's so _obvious_ , now that they are looking straight at him. The dark eye makeup changes the shape of the woman's face, but it is quite clear that they have the same, dark eyes, and the same nose. Oh, it should have been so obvious to Sherlock the moment they entered, and yet his first deduction was that they were an unlikely couple. Stupid.

Sherlock clears his throat. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

The pink-haired woman immediately reaches for the wine list.

"Harry," says the man. His tone seems stern. Perhaps he disapproves of her spending money on alcohol, or disapproves of her drinking alcohol generally. Whatever the reason, the woman ignores him, scanning over the list briefly and eventually settling on a red wine.

When Sherlock turns his attention to the man, he notices that he looks disapproving, but the man does not stop his sister from ordering the drink. He shakes his head in response to Sherlock's question, saying that he is happy with water instead, and Sherlock nods, turning away to retrieve their drinks.

OoO

The man comes back to the restaurant the following week, without his sister. He comes late in the afternoon, shortly before they stop their lunch menu and start setting up for dinner, but he doesn't order a meal. He just asks for a cup of coffee instead.

Between serving other tables and cleaning up, Sherlock watches the man, determined to deduce everything about him correctly after he failed to make a correct deduction initially regarding the nature of his relationship with the woman Sherlock now knows to be the man's sister. He watches as the man rummages through the bag resting against the side of his chair, and he pulls out a notebook and pen, setting them up in front of him. When Sherlock gives him his coffee a few minutes later, he catches a glimpse of a diagram of the human body.

So, the man is studying, then. The diagram suggests biology. However, the man looks too old to be an undergraduate student, like Sherlock. It is still a possibility; perhaps he could have taken a gap year to travel, or to work, or perhaps he has been taking fewer classes to decrease the workload, consequently lengthening his degree. Alternatively – and, Sherlock believes, more likely, judging by the notes that he can catch a glimpse of when he is close enough – the man is doing postgraduate study. Specifically, he is studying medicine. He's studying to be a doctor.

Sherlock does not know much about this man, but he has an odd feeling that he would make a good doctor. The fact that he's studying in the middle of a restaurant suggests dedication. This deduction is supported by the fact that the man is drinking coffee; he's tired, presumably from late nights spent studying. He's given up hours of sleep, and he has given up the opportunity for a lunch break.

Well, this either indicates dedication or desperation. It may be the case that he has an exam within the next several hours, and he's now cramming in several weeks' worth of study that he should have done in advance. However, the pages and pages of notes that he is flipping through suggest he's organised, and organised students generally do not end up quite so desperate.

When a waitress comes to take his cup away, once he's finished his coffee, he orders a cup of tea. Tea is clearly his preferred beverage, and he likely chose coffee based off a need for caffeine, which further supports Sherlock's theory that the man is overworked and has not had enough sleep. He gives the small pot a few minutes to brew before he pours it, and he has several cups, finishing the entire pot before he packs and leaves.

OoO

Chemistry exams occupy Sherlock's time for a couple of weeks, leading him to cut down his shifts for a while until they're over. As a result, it's three weeks later when Sherlock next sees the man. He cannot say for certain whether that is purely because Sherlock himself hasn't been at the restaurant for a while, or if the man has not been there either.

He is with his sister again this time. Her hair has been re-dyed, this time a darker shade of red. Her makeup is still dark, but she has changed the style of it – this time, her thick, winged eyeliner is replaced by smudged, dark shades that give her a 'smoky eyed' look that strikes Sherlock as largely inappropriate for a restaurant. Perhaps she's going out afterwards. More likely, she's fond of standing out.

Sherlock takes their orders, starting with drinks once again. The man says that he's fine with water, just like last time (money is tight, clearly used to choosing cheaper options, unsurprising for a university student). The woman he calls Harry orders a beer, and Sherlock notices something flicker over the man's expression. He remembers the man's response to Harry's glass of wine last time, and he gets the impression that he disapproves of her drinking.

Harry seems to understand the look, because she looks over at the man and says, "Come on, John, it's _fine_."

Sherlock's gaze flickers between them for a moment in case they change their mind, and when they don't, he turns away to take their orders back to the kitchen. Behind him, he hears the man – John – say, "I just don't want a repeat of last time."

OoO

As the weeks go by, John's visits become increasingly regular. He's always there on a Friday, although the exact time varies; sometimes he is there for a late lunch or a drink (usually while studying), and sometimes he's there for dinner. Most of the time, he is on his own, but on occasion, his sister is with him. Once, Sherlock sees him with another female, and Sherlock notices the conversations between them are slightly awkward (new, first date, testing the waters). If the first date turns into anything more, it's never at the restaurant.

His sister, when she is with him, always has a different hair colour and a different style of makeup. Often, Sherlock does not immediately recognise her face, the dark makeup changing the way she looks, but he knows that it is her purely because there are not many people who come to the restaurant with such vibrant hair. As weeks turn into months, the occasions on which she is with John become fewer and further between; when they are together, conversation does not seem nearly as amicable and as comfortable as it was the first time Sherlock saw them.

Once, only once, Harry comes to the restaurant alone.

It's apt, really, that, in the same way that Sherlock's attention was first drawn to John through Harry and her attention-grabbing hair colour, it is through Harry that Sherlock first meets John properly. That is to say, it is through Harry that Sherlock has his first conversation with John that goes beyond asking for his order.

Harry does not take a seat at a table like John usually does, but instead sits at the bar. It is because of this that Sherlock does not pay attention to her, at first. He's a waiter, not a bartender; those at the tables are the ones who occupy most of his attention. He noted her when she entered, purplish hair catching his eye, but beyond that, he does not pay any mind to her for about an hour. Then she catches his attention, along with the attention of everyone else in the restaurant, as she starts a rather loud argument with the bartender, Victor. Victor has a duty of care that prevents him from providing anyone with more alcohol once they have reached a certain level of intoxication, and judging by the way she sways on her chair and the way her voice slurs, Harry is definitely too drunk to be offered any more. Clearly, Harry is displeased that she is being refused another drink, and now she's making sure the whole restaurant knows it.

She's disturbing the people at the restaurant and at the bar, as well as the staff. The commotion she is causing has silenced all other conversations; people are turning their heads and staring at her, exchanging concerned glances with one another. Victor is looking increasingly stressed, threatening to call security, insisting that she leaves, but it is not enough to scare Harry into leaving her seat, or even enough to get her to take a breath and calm down.

If it were anyone else, Sherlock might have turned his attention back to his main job and let the bartender handle it. If it were anyone else, he might have simply decided that it was not his problem. However, Harry and her brother have been regular enough customers for Sherlock to feel like he knows them, and it's quite clear by the expression on Victor's face that the bartender is not doing a very good job of handling it after all.

Harry is far too drunk and far too engaged in the argument to notice that Sherlock has come up behind her. His gaze flickers over her coat, and he notes the way her left pocket hangs lower than her right, suggesting there is something inside of it that is weighing it down. He catches Victor's eye as he reaches for the pocket, and Victor takes the hint, keeping Harry's attention on him (which is not difficult) while Sherlock pulls out her phone, immediately taking a few steps back before she can notice that he has confiscated it.

Even before he's unlocked the screen, the phone provides further evidence for the hypothesis that Harry has been in a similar position before. It might be the first time she's had an argument with a bartender – Sherlock does not have enough data to deduce that – but it is certainly not the first time that she has gotten drunk. Scratch marks around the power connection tell him that Harry has gone to plug her phone in to charge with shaky hands. The sheer number of marks says that this might even be a common occurrence.

He thinks back to the small part of the conversation that he caught between her and John a few weeks back. _I just don't want a repeat of last time_ , John had said. Last time could refer to any number of things. Perhaps Harry had gotten similarly worked up, and had enough to drink to make her violent. Perhaps it made her sick, or she had lost consciousness. It is even possible that the correct answer was a combination of the above. Either way, Harry has been drunk before, and has gotten herself into some sort of trouble before, and John is aware of it.

There is no lock on the phone, for which Sherlock is grateful. Had it been necessary, he would have managed to work out the code, but it would have wasted several precious seconds. This is faster. He goes into the list of recent contacts, glancing at the name on the top of the list. "Clara", it reads, followed by a love heart. She is clearly a romantic partner. However, Sherlock does not know Clara, and Sherlock also knows that Harry's current mission to drink herself into oblivion has probably been triggered by something. Problems in one's love life are a common example of such triggers. Sherlock has no way of ruling out the possibility that Harry's partner is the root of the problem, so it's better not to take the risk.

Instead, Sherlock chooses the more familiar name, second from the top: John.

John picks up within a couple of rings. It's not that late, but he still sounds tired, exasperated. "What now, Harry?"

Sherlock is certain he has called the right person, but the last thing he needs is for John to panic upon hearing a different voice than Harry's. So, instead of launching straight into an explanation for the call, he asks, "Is this John?"

When John next speaks, he sounds far more alert. "Who's this?" he asks. "Where's Harry?"

"This is Sherlock. I'm calling from Angelo's. You're Harry's brother, correct?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

"Your sister has had too much to drink," Sherlock says, glancing over at Harry, who has just jumped out of her seat. Maybe she's about to make a run for the bathroom, he thinks. At least that would keep her quiet for a while, although Sherlock hopes he doesn't end up stuck on cleaning duty. "She needs to be escorted home."

He hears John swear on the other end of the phone, the sound muffled as though John has pulled the phone away from his mouth. It's clearer when he speaks again. "I'll be there in about twenty minutes, okay? Keep an eye on her."

Harry has not made a run for the bathroom. She's merely opted to try standing while she continues her argument, as though that might change the bartender's mind. It's rather unsuccessful, seeing as she's swaying on her feet.

"It's rather hard not to," Sherlock mutters.

"Thanks. I'll be there soon," John replies, and the phone clicks as he hangs up. Sherlock glances at Harry, wondering if he can return the phone to her pocket without her noticing. He concludes that he is capable of it, but decides that it is best that Harry does not have her phone on her until John gets here. He opts to hold onto it instead.

OoO

It takes twenty-five minutes for John to get to the restaurant. Sherlock sees him step out of a cab, so it is safe to assume that the driver is to blame for John's tardiness. Cab drivers are largely inefficient, compared to driving oneself. John likely has no other option; he either does not have a car, or does not have a license. Sherlock assumes both. London has enough in terms of public transport for one to get away with not having a car, and if John does not have a car, he does not need a license either.

He watches John lean over the window, presumably telling the driver to wait for him, before he turns and heads into the restaurant.

Harry catches John's attention immediately. It's rather hard to miss her. Sherlock does not intercept his path, but rather stands back and watches as John approaches her, in a similar sort of way to how someone might approach a wild animal when they cannot predict its reaction.

"Harry," he says softly, and she turns around too quickly at the sound of his voice.

"John!" she exclaims, and she loses her footing. However, John has excellent reflexes, and he steps forwards to catch her before she hits the ground. His arms go underneath hers, supporting her and helping her to find her feet again. She seems unharmed, and she also sees it as hysterically funny, judging by the way she giggles into his ear.

In the course of two seconds, she's gone from angry to giggly. It's a rather startling contrast.

"Come on," John says, releasing her carefully but staying close in case she loses her balance again. "Let's get you home."

She shakes her head vigorously. "No," she says, drawing out the 'o' sound. "Not done yet."

"Yes, I think you are," John says patiently. He's clearly been in similar situations before. He seems to approach the situation with a sort of practiced ease that goes beyond a single person. Perhaps, as well as with Harry, he has done this before with another family member. After all, alcoholism often has a genetic basis, or can be acquired through observation of a parental figure.

Harry isn't facing Sherlock, so he cannot see her face, but she's clearly having some kind of wordless conversation with John, because he then shakes his head despite her lack of a verbal response. "No, Harry," he says again, his tone firm, authoritative. "Clara will be wondering what's happened to you."

It's the wrong thing to say. Harry's personality snaps back from happy drunk to angry drunk in a second, and she tries to push John away. She's clearly tried to be forceful, but she has either been weakened by the alcohol, or John is strong enough to stand his ground.

"I don't give a _shit_ what Clara thinks," she spits, her voice slurring on the words. "She can go do whatever she wants. 'M not going back."

John holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay," he says gently, "but we still need to get you home. You can stay with me tonight, all right?" When Harry does not immediately respond, John continues, "Please, Harry", and Harry, much to John's visible relief (as well as that of Sherlock, Victor, and presumably everyone else left in the restaurant), nods her head.

"Mmkay," she slurs, and John relaxes a bit, wrapping one arm around her to both support her and guide her out of the restaurant. He shoots an apologetic glance at the bartender nearest to him, and then he walks slowly until they've stepped out the door, Harry swaying a little with every step.

It's not until Sherlock has seen the cab pull away from the side of the road when he realises that Harry's phone is still in his hands.

OoO

Sherlock makes a mental note to call John the following day, but it doesn't turn out to be necessary. John turns up only an hour or so after they've opened for lunch. The bar is not open, so he goes to the front counter, and Sherlock hears him ask the waitress there if anyone left a phone the night before. Sherlock pulls it out of his back pocket and holds it out, catching John's attention. He turns to face Sherlock, and his expression immediately becomes relieved.

"Oh, thank God," he says, taking the phone from Sherlock's hands, looking it over as though to confirm that it is, in fact, Harry's phone. "If it hadn't been here, I don't know where else I could have looked."

"It would hardly be your responsibility," Sherlock says. "It's your sister's phone."

"She's sleeping off a remarkable hangover today, as you can imagine, so she won't be looking for it any time soon. Didn't want to leave it hanging around for too long, because I figured if we didn't find it today, she'd never get it back." He turns the screen on to check for any missed calls or messages, before sliding it into his back pocket and looking back at Sherlock. His gaze flickers to the name tag. "You're the one who called me last night, aren't you?"

Sherlock nods once. "Yes."

"Well, thank you. I wanted to apologise on her behalf. I know it must have made your job so much harder, and you should not have had to deal with it."

Sherlock shakes his head dismissively. "Not your fault. You did not force your sister to become an alcoholic, let alone to come here last night. You can blame her for that; it was her decision to come, drink, and start an argument. Or, arguably, you could blame Clara, although I don't have enough data to say for certain whether or not she has actually done anything wrong."

John's brow furrows. "Do you know Clara?" he asks.

Sherlock shakes his head. "Not personally, no, but relationship problems are a common cause of stress, and alcohol is frequently used for self-medicating." He pauses for a beat, and adds, "That was rather a shot in the dark, of course, but given the conversation that you had with your sister last night, and the way that she responded to Clara's name, I'd say I'm right."

"Oh," John says, sounding surprised.

But now that Sherlock has started, he finds he cannot stop. Deductions spill out of his mouth like a waterfall. "Of course, you could just as easily argue that your father was the one to blame."

"My father?"

"A girl her age, drinking to this extent, and clearly not for the first time, suggests she's either learnt the habit from somewhere or she has a genetic predisposition towards it, or perhaps both. Either explanation suggests a parent with similar problems with alcohol. Could be your mother, I suppose, but father is statistically more likely. It couldn't be you, her responsible big brother; you clearly have less of an interest in drinking than she does, perhaps because you did not inherit whatever genetic predisposition towards it that she has, or perhaps because you've seen what it does to her or your father and you don't want that to happen to you. You're a medical student, you know the risks, and you clearly want to perform well academically. This does not leave you with many opportunities to get as drunk as she did last night. That, and alcohol is expensive, which is further reason for you to avoid it while you're trying to limit the amount of money you spend."

John is staring at him now, the expression on his face a mixture of shock, confusion, and something that Sherlock cannot immediately identify. "How could you possibly know all that?" he asks.

Sherlock makes a dismissive hand gesture. "They're simple enough deductions. The marks on your sister's phone, from plugging in the charger with shaky hands, suggest she's been drunk before. The conversation you had with her the last time you ate dinner here, after she ordered a drink, suggests that, on top of that, she's had negative experiences. The way you handled it yesterday also suggests that you've experienced it before, either with her or with your father. I'm right in saying father, aren't I, and not mother? Alcoholism is more common in males.

"I know you're a medical student, too, because you were studying biology in here one afternoon, and you're too old to be an undergraduate. I know that you've consistently chosen cheaper options and you've never ordered a drink other than water, implying that money is tight, or possibly that you're saving for something. It's likely the former, given you're a university student and university students are rarely financially stable. See? Simple."

Sherlock takes a breath as he finishes, and he lets his eyes wander the room, anticipating the usual comments. _Freak_ , perhaps. Or _piss off_ , that's a common one. Or maybe John will just walk out with a promise to never come back to the restaurant again.

These comments don't come.

Instead, what comes out of John's mouth is, "That... was amazing."

For a moment, Sherlock's brain goes offline. He cannot quite compute what he's just heard. He runs over the sentence in his mind a couple of times, trying to work out if there was a possibility that he had misheard, that the word 'amazing' was actually something far more insulting with the same number of syllables. When he fails to come up with any ideas as to what John could have actually said, he studies John's face and body language, trying to work out if the words had been intended in a sarcastic manner. Sarcasm has eluded Sherlock from time to time in the past. However, there is no sign of ingenuity in John's face. In fact, there is a look of amazement.

"You think so?" Sherlock asks after a pause, because he's not sure how else to respond.

"Of course I do," John replies. "That was extraordinary. Christ, you really got all that just from watching us when we came out for dinner? That's fantastic."

Sherlock blinks, opens his mouth to respond, and finds himself in the rare position of being speechless. He's not quite sure how to respond to the feeling.

John continues, "Do you do that with everyone who comes in here, or am I just special?" A smile crosses his face as he says it, his expression and his tone teasing, _friendly_ , and Sherlock is not used to being spoken to like this, especially not after making deductions. It makes him feel flustered, and he shakes his head quickly.

"It's not just you. I deduce everyone, to pass the time. I just have more data on you because you're a regular, so I can deduce more about you compared to, say, the blonde woman over there who has never been here before. This restaurant isn't her usual taste. The only reason she's here today is because she's meeting a date, judging by her outfit, and her date has clearly been the one to choose the location. Her nervousness suggests it's a first date, and judging by the way she keeps checking her phone and checking her appearance in her pocket mirror, I'd wager her date has never seen her before. It's safe to assume it's a blind date, or perhaps, more likely, she's met him on one of those dating websites..." He trails off, realising that he's rambling, and John is staring at him with that same expression from before – the one that Sherlock initially failed to recognise. "Sorry," he mumbles, and then he realises that the expression is awe.

"That's brilliant," John says. "Christ, how did you learn to do that?"

Sherlock shakes his head dismissively. "It's obvious if you pay enough attention."

"Still incredible," John says. "You really are something else."

Sherlock doesn't know what to say to that, so he stays quiet. After a beat, John asks, "It's Sherlock, right?"

Sherlock would normally point out that his name is right there, on his name tag, and John is capable of reading, but his brain is still rebooting following John's unusual response. Instead, he just nods his head. "Yes," he says.

John extends a hand and says, "I'm John."

Sherlock's brow furrows, and he stares at the outstretched hand as though it's a foreign object. "Yes, I know," he says slowly. Why is John introducing himself now?

"Yes, well, now I'm properly making your acquaintance," John says. "I didn't introduce myself last night."

"You had your priorities," Sherlock says, still frowning, "not to mention the fact that it was unnecessary, seeing as I already know your name."

John rolls his eyes and says, "Are you going to shake my hand or leave me hanging?" and Sherlock finally reaches out and grasps John's hand with his own, making John beam. "That's better."

They shake hands briefly, and when they let go, John says, "It was nice to meet you, Sherlock. Properly, that is, and not under circumstances that involve my sister making a fool of herself at the bar. If you're not too busy, maybe I can come and say hi the next time I stop in for lunch." He pauses, and adds, "If that's not too weird, of course."

It is weird, but only because Sherlock is not used to people wanting to talk to him, and it's not the bad sort of weird that John is thinking of. So, Sherlock shakes his head. "No, not at all," he says, and John smiles.

"Great," he says. "I better get back and make sure Harry's okay, but I'll see you the next time I come in. Again, it was really nice to meet you."

"You too," Sherlock replies, and he watches as John turns and walks back outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

OoO

Passing the time in between serving customers becomes a lot easier after that.


End file.
